


A Night in Goldwalk

by plurality



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Goldwalk, POV Second Person, You too are a Cloudbank citizen, headcanons ahoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plurality/pseuds/plurality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come and take a walk through Goldwalk at its brightest and finest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night in Goldwalk

**Author's Note:**

> A rewritten and improved version of the [Goldwalk Nights](http://cameratacat.tumblr.com/post/99725881820/goldwalk-nights)  I had posted a while ago over at my Transistor blog, [cameratacat](http://cameratacat.tumblr.com/)

Goldwalk at night is –

Stepping around a street corner in the crisp air to find a parade of lights, almost blinding you to the sight of the night sky. It has that oil paint look, with streaks of indigo and green. All according to the will of the people, of course. Beat out lavender and coral reds by the tiniest margin.

Your feet takes you further into the street, almost of their own accord. So much for a quiet night indoors! But the combination of the dancing lights and the laughter of what must be Traverson Hall’s students – freedom at last! – carries you past your former plans with ease. A glance at an OVC Terminal has an announcement – “Street newly renovated! Thank you to all who voted!” – chirping at you with bright block letters, and well, what better time to see how things are different than now?

To your delight, there are new shops and restaurants dotting the pathway. The scent of cinnamon and fresh bread from the new bakery brushes away the faint disappointment that comes with the realization that your favored café had occupied that same spot. A soft breeze sends the wind chimes and banners hanging from rooftops and hanging frames singing and dancing.

Lights from the insides of these shops and restaurants escape through glass windows. They reflect off of the glass and mirror vendors, little carts filled with crafts and knickknacks and hanging beads that shimmer if you catch them in the light. People are drawing on the streets, these chalkboard-like streets. Lines and curves of drawings and signatures painted in phosphorescent reds and blues and golds blossom around you as each passerby adds a line here and there. You see a lot of little messages out of the corner of your eye, scribbled on the sides of the sidewalk.

A burst of laughter from a high balcony! And the sounds rush in: the strains of songs playing from multiple record players, and the musicians already setting up shop along the road. Above all of that are the chattering and laughter of the crowd. Even though you’re alone, even though the crowd is very visibly clumped into groups of friends and families, it’s like a puzzle sliding into place. You’re not just you anymore, you had a hand in this creation with your vote. You, and everyone around you had created something living with your own voices. You’d made this possible.

With a faint smile tugging at the edges of your lips, you bend over to take a look at the rippling waters of a fountain shaped like a crane on sale. These are the new galleries and boutiques with their fine-spun clothing fluttering on hangers on the outside of their doors, their displays of brass and iron bent and twisted into plants, and delicate glass and subtle paints glowing from the lamp they shade.

Restaurants as well, spill out onto the street. The many outside tables are already filled up, and the dim insides of the restaurant and bars seem to be packed to the brim. No fine dining today, it seems. But, as they say, the only way to eat in Goldwalk is to eat on the go.

You taste a bag of roasted nuts and chestnuts here, a skewer of fried meat and vegetables there. The flavor bursts in your mouth as you bite down, and it’s a good thing you’d grabbed some napkins to keep your hands from being a mess. But there’s so much to sample, so little time. You watch cooks whose signs proudly display their Selections – Cuisine and Performance – craft each dish with practice and care. Flames lick the underside of their woks and pans, and they make flowers bloom from apple skins with a flick of their knives. Powdered sugar dusts the funnel cakes and confections that melt in your mouth as soon as you take them with a cup of hot cider.

By now the sunset’s far beyond surrender, and the colors of the painted sky are barely visible with the glowing of the lights strung together with lights and webs and delicate streamers. Cloudbank is a city of lights, anyways. Ribbons and hoops of flashing neon lights dance around, leaving imprints in the back of your eyes as performers fill in the spaces between the restaurants and vendors. There are dancers who wear bright gloves and shoes to draw your eyes to each coordinated movement. Some of these acts, you almost mistake them for statues, with how they’re painted and how still they are. The illusion is broken however, when they blink and take a bow as you and others jump in surprise. Artists set up their easels in the quieter areas, their canvases and sketchpads lit by the lights all around, open to anyone who would stop and care to watch.

Full and with aching eyes from trying to drink in everything you can see, you search for the one place you'd like to find and visit. It’s a little garden alcove nestled between a new bookstore and an art gallery whose trellis entrance is so covered by vines and growth you almost walk right by it. Your friend had put in a suggestion for these places, and you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t even take a peek.

To your pleasant surprise, when you duck in to the archway, the roar of voices and bright lights from the street proper are muffled until they’re nearly unnoticeable. The gentle darkness soothes your tired eyes, and it take only a moment to get used to the dimness. The only sound you hear is the murmuring of running water through the soft grass. Benches are scattered around, here, and the cobblestone glass paths are lit just enough to see the flash of fish scales from the water beneath your feet. The weariness that comes with an influx of changes grabs at you. So you sit.

You look up. Hidden from the bright Goldwalk lights, the moon shimmers and gives the dew on the grass and leaves a little light of their own. You breathe in the cold air, feeling it nip at your throat. When you blow out the air, you can see a faint mist in the silver light from the moon. A good place to rest, a place to digest the new street, make new plans. You'll stay here for a while, and then go home.

Then again, the night is still young – it would be a waste to leave this place after spending only a few minutes here, wouldn’t it?

 

 


End file.
